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"Take it to the trenches," said the surgeon, shortly nodding to them. "Your Rebel friend, Blecker." "Dead?" "Yes." "Story, I did what I could?" "Of course. Past help. When are we to be taken out of this trap, eh?" going on. "I did what I could." As the Doctor's parched lips moved, he looked up. How deep the blue was! how the cold air blew his hair about, fresh and boisterous!
I'm going to try and do right with the rest of my life, Paul." Blecker said nothing, paced the floor of the room, his head sunk on his breast. "Let us go out of this," at last. "I'm choked. I think in the free air we will know what is right, better." She put on her hood, and they went out, the girl drawing back on the steps, lest he should offer to assist her.
Blecker could hardly keep back a smile: even the pocket-furniture was neatly ordered in the hour of death. "If it is lost," turning his head restlessly, "light your lantern, Blecker, it is so dark, if it is, tell her" his voice was gone. "Tell her," lifting himself suddenly, with the force of death, "to be pure and true. My loving little girl, Lizzy, wife." Blecker drew his head on his shoulder.
His voice died down. Blecker finished his examination, it needed but a minute, then softly replaced the leg, and, coming up, stood quiet, only wiping the dampness off his forehead. Dan set down the lantern. "I'll go, Zur," he whispered. "Ther' 's work outside, belike." The Doctor nodded. McKinstry opened his eyes. "Good bye, my friend," stretching out his hand to Dan.
"Thank God, I am not utterly debased!" grinding the tobacco vehemently in his teeth. He walked faster, seeing that the moon was going down, leaving the battle-field in shadow. Overhead, the sinking light, striking upward from the horizon, had worked the black dome into depths of fretted silver. Blecker saw it, though passion made his step unsteady and his eye dim.
Just such old farm-houses as those, Blecker thought, would turn out such old-time moulded men as McKinstry: houses whose orchards still held on to the Waldower and Smoke-house apples; their gardens gay with hollyhocks and crimson prince's-feather; on the book-shelves the "Spectator" and "Gentleman's Magazine."
The man would not die, he thought. Grey would never be free. No. Yet, since he was a child, before he began to grapple his way through the world, he had never known such a cheerful quiet as that which filled his eyes with tears now; for, if the fight had been hard, Paul Blecker had won the victory. Sunday morning dawned cold and windy.
Whatever deficiency there might be in her brain, she would infuse energy into his care for people about him, into his sympathy for his patients; in a year or two you might be sure he would think less of Paul Blecker per se, and hate or love fewer men for their opinions than he did before. The supper, a solid meal always in these houses, was brought in.
Paul Blecker stood silent a moment, and then covered the homely, kind face reverently. "I would as lief have seen a woman die," he said, and turned away. Two or three men came up, carrying others on a broken door and on a fence-board. "Hyur's th' Doctor," laying them on a hillock of grass. "Uh wish ye'd see toh these pore chaps, Doctor," with a strong Maryland accent.
"All that finical ceremony he would go through in the face of the enemy," thought Blecker, jumping down on the track. "Give it to old Gurney, Mac. It will insure you a welcome." "It is curious, Doctor Blecker. But you" "I never care to gratify anybody. Besides, the old gentleman and I inter-despised. Our instincts cried out, ''Ware dog! the first day You are a friend of his, eh, Mac?"
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